Of Current Events and Stupid SiblingThings
by Product Of A Sick Society
Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Title is crap. =_=; Two things that gave birth to this (if you care): 1) It was inspired by a conversation I had with a friend from California, after she read the News story that I have America reading in the beginning of this fic.

2) Another friend IRL complained that there aren't enough Hetalia fics that play with current events (unless they're tragic, and therefore _should_ be off limits). So I decided to try writing my own.

Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/semi-violent Canada. Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.

Btw, please don't chew me out for some of the more offensive/controversial views Canada and America might have of each other. I got the ideas from reading various News discussion forums (And Canada/USA national polls), and I thought they would make good drama.

Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash.

Or

In which America puts his foot in his mouth, and a confused/irritated Canada finds himself playing housewife.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things<span>**

* * *

><p>Alfred drums his fingers impatiently against the desk, and squints at the computer screen in disbelief. Nah, there's no way this was true—must be some Tabloid Thing… America glances back at the headline,<p>

_**Military Plans A Show Of Force In The Arctic**_

America scoffs again. Contrary to popular belief, he did occasionally take a peek at events outside his own borders—but seriously? The first Canadian news website he comes across, and it's full of articles about Mattie's _military_? Since when did he even _have_ a military? Pacific blue eyes scan the text, despite his skepticism

'_The month-long exercise, scheduled for August and dubbed Operation Nanook… blah, blah… will involve more than 1000 troops…'_ Alfred taps the mouse scroll with a huff, skimming past the boring parts,_ '… which will come just weeks after Russia's Defence Minister, Anatoly Serdyukov, said his country will send two army brigades to help protect its interests…'_

Wait, what?

Alfred stares at the text in disbelief. Were Mattie and The Commie about to duke it out over a couple of icebergs? And _he_ _wasn't invited?_ Alfred minimizes the Internet window and quickly double clicks on the AIM icon.

It briefly occurs to him that Canada might not be online at… 2:00am … would he even be in the same time zone?

* * *

><p>Canada blinks as his laptop chirps with the announcement that someone was massaging him. He let out an involuntary yawn, before glancing at the time, and then frowning. Ontario passed out on the desk hours ago, precarious stacks of paperwork seeming to consume the snoring Province. Who on earth would be messaging him at… well, ever? Matthew clicks on the chat window with what little curiosity his lethargic brain could muster.<p>

USofAwesome: MATTIIEEEE!1!

USofAwesome: u there ?

Canada rolls his eyes and closes the window with a grimace. He should have known, and he didn't need the distractions and rampant idiocy that were sure to follow. Just as he closes it, three more pop up, all with variously worded inquiries as to whether he was in the vicinity. Matthew types up a brief reply,

MapleMonster: No

USofAwesome: UR LYING D

MapleMonster: XP

MapleMonster: Whst was your first hint?

MapleMonster: Wjay*

MapleMonster: What**

MapleMonster: I think my keyboard's been possessed by typo demons…

USofAwesome: whtvr

USofAwesome: need 2 ask u sumthing!

MapleMonster: Im busy.

USofAwesome: ur the one always preaching the amazingness of multitasking

MapleMonster: I lied.

USofAwesome: i NU IT _

Matthew can't resist a grin as the image of Alfred imitating an angry, blond blowfish springs to mind. He can only be thankful that this is over the web, and not real life shouting in his ear.

But he really does need to get to bed at some point.

MapleMonster: ttyl, need sleep

UsofAwesome: Nuuuuu—

Canada snaps the laptop shut with a huff, deciding that it couldn't be very important since the super power bothered to contact him in the first place. Usually Alfred would go directly to his government.

The young nation rescues his wayward Province from the leaning towers of paper work. He makes a halfhearted attempt to clear up the mess, but is uncertain if he has simply made it worse by the time he gives up and heads for his bedroom (right across the hall from his "home office").

Canada flops face first onto the bed with a groan—still in his faded green bunnyhug and worn jeans. He squeaks indignantly as his cell phone buzzes against his leg, "American Idiot" screaming at full volume.

God… or Allah, or Buddha, or _whomever_ he's supposed to be worshipping at this point; why can't his life just _end_? And Europe thought _they_ had problems. _Hah!_

"America," Canada's voice is brusque, "No, the chess set is not possessed. Your bears and eagles have been going extinct for decades. China doesn't listen to me. And your welfare check is in the mail; not my fault that Canada Post™ is on strike."

There's a brief silence as America processes the uncharacteristically aggressive rant. But more importantly…

"Fuck you, Bro. It's not welfare."

"Oh really,"

"Yeah!"

"Mister, 'oh it's not fair that you can afford lower corporate taxes, so now you get all the business, give me billions to make up for my lost revenue!'" Canada snarks in a high falsetto voice.

"Piss off, you _know_ it's not fair!"

"_You're_ not fair," Canada grouses.

"Your _face_ isn't fair," Came America's equally mature comeback, prompting another grin from his northern neighbour.

"Your mom's not fair."

"Dude, I'm telling Iggy."

A quick, airy laugh jumps from Matthew's lips, "Oh, so we're all on speaking terms this year?"

"Ohh, go to hell." Canada can hear the grumble in his voice.

"At the rate you're going? Thanks, but I think I'll be meeting you there."

There's a brief silence, neither country certain if they are going to continue, or just laugh it off and move on.

"God damnit, do you _always_ have to have the last word?" America demands. Canada giggles into his pillow.

"I don't know," Canada's voice turns wistful as he stares at his bedside clock, "you ever going to get better at this argument thing?"

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"_You're_ the slut." America insists.

"Manwhore." Canada corrects himself, not even attempting to deny the previous accusation. "The hell's the difference anyway?" Canada asks boredly.

"You… don't get paid?" America himself sounds confused as to how that makes him any better.

"… Right."

Canada rolls onto his back with a displeased noise—something between a moan, and a sigh. "Seriously, Al, what do you want? I have shit to do tomor—later today." He spares a glance at the clock again. "In four hours, actually, and I _know_ your schedule isn't exactly sunshine and butterflies at the moment."

"Oh what, are you _stalking_ me now?" America shoots back, not sure if he should be concerned that Canada already knows his itinerary, or just accept it for the fact of life that it is.

It vaguely occurs to him that he had a reason for calling…

"Yes, Alfred," Canada deadpans, "I'm in your closet right now, taking pictures of the Grand Canyon." He ignores the triumphant, _'hah! I'm not _at_ home!'_ exclamation. "I'll probably pull out my stash of Florida pictures later and jerk off t—"

"Ew!" Alfred lets out a sudden screech, "EWWW!" Matthew blanches, then turns beet red, because Alfred was _not_ supposed to take that statement seriously.

Canada tries, with little success, to calm his panic-stricken neighbour. However, all of his attempts at clarification, or denial are deftly overpowered by the ranting superpower.

"Your boss sends me memos, okay!" But all he gets is a dial tone. Matthew slowly pulls the phone away from his ear, and just stares at it. _The fucker hung up on me_… He muses, not sure if he should be feeling dread, anger, or relief. On the one hand, it's likely that America will forget about it within the hour. On the other, border security might tighten, and how is he supposed to explain to his boss that there's been yet _another_ set back in continental security negotiations?

Canada grabs the nearest pillow and slaps it over his face with a frustrated growl. Maybe if he smothers himself, everything will go back to normal by the time he wakes up. But as things stood, if Alfred still remembers tomorrow, Canada figures he's looking at either a restraining order, or an offer of pity sex. Neither of which seem particularly appealing right now. His phone buzzes again.

"What d'you want?" Canada grumbles, not caring whom he offends at this point. A familiar obnoxious laugh responds to his demand. Wow, that has to be a new record for Alfred's selective amnesia.

* * *

><p>"Broski, when were you going to tell me that you and the Ruskie were fighting?" America demands, having finally remembered why he was phoning in the first place. Yes, these new revelations about Matthew's Florida collection were kind of disturbing, but hey, he could deal. It's not like Matt had anyone else around when he got lonely, right? So… creepy or not, Canada was still his sort-of-brother, and he still needs to make sure nothing horrible happens to him.<p>

"… W-what?" Canada sounds confused. "I… I'm not…"

"And people say that _I'm_ the forgetful one." America scoffs. "It's all over these news thingies…"

"Alfie, I have n-no idea what you're talking about," Canada admits, and America can't help but flush at the rarely used nickname. "I've been on good terms with Ivan for decades." America's blush quickly turns into a scowl; since when is Mattie on a first name basis with that psycho?

"Matt, military mission?" America prompts, "In the Arctic? With a bunch of guys that got back from Afghanistan? Any of this a ringin' a bell?" All he receives are a few confused sounding noises, _'it's too fucking early for this,'_ might have been in there as well, but America had tuned most of it out.

"Th… you mean the training mission?" Canada asks; his voice taking on a plaintive warble as it occurs to him just how comfortable his bed feels right now. A rush of static comes across the phone line (probably a sigh).

"Russia has nothing to do with it." Canada mumbles, "The military does this every summer – if anything, I should probably invite Ivan to participate, considering how negotiations are going so far…"

"I'm calling bullshit, why else would—"

"Because _that's_ what the media is _paid_ to do," Canada huffs, obvious irritation beginning to taint his tone, "Oh fuck this, this is an _old_ story. If you're really that concerned, talk to me tomorrow—but _don't_ do anything stupid. Hell, check in with foreign affairs, Lord knows they've given up trying to ignore you."

"Don't you dare h—" Click. "—ang up!" Alfred glares at his phone in disbelief. Since when does Canada own a spine too? … Maybe around the time he got a military? America sends a quick text, threatening invasion if Canada doesn't reply. Two minutes tick by, while America waits impatiently for a response.

Right.

Invasion it is, then.

America grabs his coat from the back of his chair and struts out the door, car keys rattling in his pocket as he shrugs into his leather jacket.

* * *

><p><span>AN: This is basically my attempt to try and get back into writing. I've had horrible Writer's Block for the past 4 years, so I'm trying to make myself work past it.

That being said, I'd love any reviews, or critiques (no flames please, I don't handle confrontations well, XD), or encouragement. Let me know how I did with their characterizations so far?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oooo, a second chapter. Yes, I'm still going to inflict my crap writing on you all. I'm generous like that.

Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/semi-violent/bi-polar Canada. Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.

Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things<span>**

* * *

><p>Seventeen hours later finds America pulling into the driveway of Canada's little suburban home in… Montreal? Ottawa? Whatever - some little city that he couldn't be bothered to remember, and that took nearly <em>twice as long<em> to get to, because of summer construction projects all along the main highways. It is going on 8:00 at night, and he really just wants to find a place to pass out.

The house itself is painted a quiet blue, the grass neatly cut, but browned due to water conservation laws. Really, it was such a _normal_ looking house, sometimes America didn't believe that his brother lived in it. Shouldn't it be glaring white, with maple leaves painted everywhere? Maybe a few Mounties and beavers stationed along the walkway? Although there _is_ a maple tree in the front yard…

America eases onto the brake as he pulls up to the closed garage door. He throws the Ford SUV into park, eying the house the way he would scout out a battlefield. Which it could very well turn in to, depending on if this is the house with a chainsaw, and all the guns in the shed. He can't quite remember, because Canada has so many houses, it's ridiculous.

He steps out of the car and heads for the front door, deciding he will just wing it. He has his gun after all… Wait. He isn't supposed to have that here. Better not tell Mattie, because Canada would totally sue him for it. Maybe throw him in jail for a few days for kicks.

Alfred skips up the stairs and knocks on the door. He shrugs when there's no answer, and tries the door handle, not at all surprised when it opens without effort. Honestly, how many times did he have to tell Matt about locking his door? What if he were Russia? Or France? … Okay, well, if there's one person Matt probably didn't have to fear, it was France. Canada deported him back in the 60's, and America's pretty sure Francis hasn't set foot near Canada since.

"Yo!" America calls into the relative darkness of the house, trying to avoid looking at the Arthur-esc wallpaper, because it's hideous, and really, why the heck did Matthew want such a horrible floral design on his walls?

"Maaatttiiieee," He tries again, and is greeted by more silence. He easily makes his way into the living room and… oh-my-god, the tablecloths and doilies are out. This is probably a bad time to be around; Mattie only bothers with those stupid things when he's trying to impress someone.

Though the American soon finds himself distracted by the strumming of guitars and drums drifting from the kitchen, along with something that smells delicious. Awesome, just in time for dinner!

America slinks his way to the kitchen entrance, to be greeted by the sight of Canada. In an apron. Singing. And doing probably the cutest little shuffle-wiggle dance he has ever seen. Alfred bites his lip to muffle a burst of laugher that threatens to ruin the moment. God he loves this song, but there is absolutely _no way_ Canada can look normal belting out the lyrics to "Teenage Dirtbag" without making him want to giggle like an idiot.

Canada gives something a quick stir at the stove and slides over to the fridge on sock-clad feet, his voice muffled as he leans down to retrieve something on the bottom shelf.

It is then that America notices Canada isn't wearing his usual ratty jeans and baggy T-shirt. An off-white button up is tucked in to dark brown dress pants, shirt cuffs rolled up, and a black leather belt hugging his narrow hips. Strawberry-blond curls are twisted back in a short ponytail, bits of it falling loose and curving at the blonde's jaw line.

Alfred catches himself staring as Canada coos along to the lyrics of… something that isn't in English. Either way, it's just so _weird_ seeing Canada dress up in something that actually fit him.

He briefly wonders which country the younger blond is going to meet—not because he _cares_, or anything—but because it's still weird to remember quiet little Mattie jumping into the spotlight in recent months, and maybe he's just a tiny bit concerned about bad influences right now.

"It's not Israel again, is it?" Alfred cuts in loudly, deciding he's bored with waiting for Canada to notice him. Matthew shrieks breathlessly, and leaps sideways, only to trip over a stepstool and face plant into the tiles.

America howls with laugher, clutching a dining chair to keep from flopping to the floor. It's a losing battle, and America soon finds himself curled up on the floor, cackling madly at the flustered expression on Canada's scarlet face.

"You a_-ass_hole!" is vaguely registered, before America feels slim, clumsy fingers at his throat. Alfred squeaks and crab-walks his way under the dining table, sniggering behind the relative protection of wooden chair legs.

"Ooo," America taunts, wiggling his fingers (very maturely) in his twin's direction, "so _violent_ Canada. You sure you got all that rioting out of your system last month?" In response, Canada seizes America's thighs and _pulls_, annoyed with trying to get at him. There is a loud _thunk_, followed quickly by a pained yelp as America comes sliding out from under the table.

Canada's eyes widen as he registers the pained expression on America's features, and the hands shielding his face from view. Angry shouting aside, he wasn't _literally_ trying to hurt Alfred.

America blinks as he finds himself with a lap full of worried Canadian. Matthew's indigo eyes stare into his own with wide-eyed concern. Fluttering touches bat his hands out of the way, comb through his hair, and skirt around the area where his nose smacked into the chair seat. And he is sure that Matthew is saying something to him, something stupid and comforting, and—when the hell is Mattie going to learn that the United States of America doesn't need a nursemaid?

And he should probably pay attention, because Matthew is looking at him, like he's expecting an answer to something. But all Alfred can seem to focus on is the solid weight of Matthew's thighs around his hips and the light scrape of fingernails at the back of his neck… And he should _really_ consider listening now, because Canada's expression is slowly migrating from concern, back to annoyance.

"_Al_," Canada calls, drawing the name slowly out, "Yo, Huston," a tap on the head, "Everything alright up here? Christ, snap out of it, Alfie, I'm tired of Obama ranting at me because of your bullshit mental issues."

Something light and bubbly (and maybe even a little hysterical) wells up in Alfred's chest, because (somehow) it doesn't surprise him that Canada is all cozy with his boss. The conniving little bastard probably has a plan all in place for a political take over.

Actually, it doesn't bother him that much, he decides as Canada's warm weight settles on his upper thighs, lips downturned and dark eyes searching his. America shifts uncomfortably under Canada's probing stare. He is slowly coming to accept that there is really no use hiding anything from his twin; it's like he has a sixth sense for Bullshit.

Wait, why is he getting weird about this anyway? He totally has a reason for being here.

"Dude," America finally exclaims, jabbing a purposeful finger in Canada's direction. An expectant silence hangs over the pair while America (very briefly) considers taking a more tactical route.

"Are you and the Commie fighting?" America blurts. The twins stare at each other, the Northern one looking more confused and annoyed by the second.

"Are you still on about that?" Canada demands incredulously, using the table to pull himself to his feet. "I already told you, No. Where the hell did you even get that idea?"

America gives a petulant huff, torn between wanting to push the issue, or simply let it go and enjoy one of the few moments Matthew has let him within arms' length, without shrieking bloody murder and attempting to scratch his eyes out.

"Alfred," Canada sighs, as his brother stands with an aggravated grumble. And oh-my-god Alfred _hates_ that tone. That's Matthew's matronly, _'honey, sometimes I question your sanity, but I will indulge you, because no one else will, and because I'm the closest thing to a wife/mother you will ever have' _voice.

"I am not, in an argument, with Russia." Canada says slowly. America opens his mouth to… probably tell Mattie to fuck off and not treat him like an idiot. It is quickly forgotten when Canada shushes him, cool fingertips pinching his lips to cut off whatever the American is about to say.

"I never said you were stupid," Matthew, the mind reader, says. "Just prone to jumping to conclusions."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Soo…" Alfred fiddles absently with Canada's rolled up sleeves, ignoring his brother's irritated attempts to pull his arms away. "How… exactly am I wrong?"

"Ivan's helping me with the training," Matthew explains, "I don't know as much about navigating the upper Arctic as I should. He's loaning me some satellite data to give my guys an idea of what to expect for storms and…" There's a bunch of technical mumbo-jumbo that follows, and he's certain that if he were an icy wasteland like Canada or Russia, he would totally find the topic incredibly interesting. But as it were, the only thing he catches on to is the fact that Mattie is, once again, spending way too much time with the oversized nation.

"You're working with Russia." Alfred states. At Matthew's patient nod, he decides that he isn't sure how he should feel about this. Is this news any better than before? Maybe Mattie is just too scared to say anything. Russia could be one scary mofo when he wants to be; not to _him_, of course, but he could see why _Canada_ might be scared of him… "He's not stalking you again, is he? Because I—"

"No. He isn't." Canada interrupts, and he turns his attention back to the stove, plaid apron swishing at his knees. Whatever it is, it smells good enough to successfully derail America's current line of reasoning. He slinks up behind Mattie to peer at the contents of the stovetop. He sees rice in one pot, and some veggies in some kind of sauce in another. There is a salad on the counter (with way too much stuff in it, in his opinion), and…

"Dude, where's the meat?" America demands, plunking his chin on Canada's shoulder. Alfred wrinkles his nose as a couple loose strands of Mattie's hair tickle his face, trying to blow the annoying pieces away.

Canada waves his saucepan spatula in a distracted, '_it is over yonder_' motion, and tries to elbow his handsy neighbour away. This tells America absolutely nothing.

"Is it Yong Soo?" Alfred abruptly switches topics, leaving Canada to blink vacantly over his shoulder at him.

"What?"

America waves vaguely in the direction of Matthew's clothes, and the dinner still simmering at the stove. "Yong Soo. I know he was kind of pissed off at you for turning down the invitation to the Expo, and you're usually big on diplomacy dinners, and—why are you looking at me like that?" Matthew is staring at him like he's just grown an extra head. Which is an expression America saw a lot, but not usually from passive little Matthew (whom had experienced nearly every antic the American could throw at him, and was therefore, mercifully immune to the majority of his quirks).

"Since when do _you_ know anything about my foreign relations?" Canada's eyebrow is raised questioningly, and, for some reason, America feels an irrational moment of panic. He can't help but bristle defensively, because the Northern nation sounds so damn _amused_ about the whole idea. America scoffs, it's not like he goes _out of his way_ to keep tabs on Canada, you know. It just kind of _happens_ whenever he does his own security review… things.

"Don't get a big head. I only know because I had a game weekend with him and Kiku last week, and he wouldn't shut up about it." Alfred admits. "What the hell do you mean 'you can't afford it'? It looks like bullshit when the only other country to use that excuse is Greece." Matthew rolls his eyes (that seems to happen a lot when Alfred visits).

Canada's voice is dismissive, though, in truth, he feels rather guilty about it. "He's just being melodramatic. I'm not going to waste money on a presentation that nobody is going to show up for. I might as well just stick a cardboard sign in the dirt that says, 'Canada Was Here,' and nobody would notice the difference."

"Well, _some_one's bitter." America teases.

"I'm not bitter." Matthew argues. "I'm being practical. I think it's garbage that Francis and Feli and everyone have millions to blow on a stupid World Fair, but can't get their own shit together."

"And I suppose you have better things to invest in,"

"I need snowmobiles for my military."

Alfred pauses. He wants to laugh (like, _really_ wants to), but it looks like his brother is totally serious about it.

"You need what?"

Canada rolls his eyes and repeats, "Snowmobiles. For the Military." An obnoxious grin spreads across America's face. "I swear to god, Alfred, if you make a single Igloo joke, I'll—Hey!" Canada swats his brother's questing fingers away from the slices of spiced zucchini. Alfred whines as the Canadian attempts to shrug him off. He tangles his fingers in the ties of the red plaid apron, stubbornly refusing to move.

"I'm hungry." The American whines, as though that excuses all irrational behavior. "Feed me."

"Now you just sound like Kumashichi," Canada scolds. America groans, and drapes himself haphazardly over Canada's shoulders.

"Pleeaasseee, I've been living on KD for months." He sniffs theatrically, "They cut my McD's budget, Matties, _my Mickey D's…!_" Canada has the gall, the utter _cheek_ to laugh at him. Oh there would be words about this, maybe he'd hide the maple syrup and see how well _he_ coped.

"Do you really need millions for _snowmobiles_?" America hops back on the previous topic. "Dude, I could get you some from this place in Maine. They're only, like a few hundreds each… At least, I _think_ it's in Maine…" Which is pure bullshit. America has no idea what they're worth, but they couldn't be more than a skidoo, right?

"But for realizies, Matt, _millions_?" He asks again when Mattie's only response is to roll his eyes (again), and ignore him.

"_Stealth_ Snowmobiles, Alfred."

Alfred blinks. That… actually sounds kinda cool. He has visions of lasers, and Mattie's crazy ninja squad guys (of which Mattie still denies ownership, but Alfred totally knows he has them), and… Actually, the fantasy ends there, because he has no idea why Canada would actually need them. But it still sounds awesome.

"Planning to invade Alaska?" Alfred asks dryly, deciding not to inflict his imagination on his more earthbound (read: boring) neighbour.

Matthew's elbow nudges him teasingly. "You know it, how else would I test them?"

* * *

><p>Canada steps out of Alfred's loose hold, and slips out to check on the barbeque. He gives the steaks a quick flip.<p>

"I smell beef!" Alfred crows from the kitchen. Canada rolls his eyes, pulls the lid back down, and returns inside. He flushes as Alfred attacks him with a puppy stare on his boyish face.

"Piss off, Alfred, they're not for you." Canada mumbles, no real heat in his words. He quickly approaches the stove, refusing to meet Alfred's gaze as the American bursts into more snickers. The laugh quickly turns into a rough coughing fit. Matthew's eyes widen at the sound, seeing America double over with the force of them.

Sometimes he forgets how sick Alfred really is… and it's always a horrible moment when something happens to remind him. The Canadian hustles over. He runs a soothing palm down his twin's back, helpless to do anything but steer Alfred towards a dining chair.

America almost seems to cringe away from the offered comfort. Canada fists his fingers in the leather jacket with a concerned frown. He runs a hand up and down the hacking blond's back, doubtful that any of his murmurs are heard over the wracking coughs.

"You alright?" Matthew asks gently as the fit slowly dissolves. Alfred takes a few moments, no sound between them except the CD player in the background, and America's wheezing breath.

"Oh yeah, I'm good." Alfred waves the other's concern away with a brash grin. His voice still sounds a little strained, though, and Matthew can't bring himself to move away yet.

Matthew studies Alfred more intently than before, resting the back of his hand against Alfred's forehead for a moment. There are dark circles under his too bright eyes; Matthew can't be certain if it's a sign of an insomnia relapse. He is losing weight as well—and not in a healthy way. For all the 'fat jokes' Alfred has to put up with, he really isn't. Which is why it's so alarming to see his belt pulled a few notches tighter, and his jacket not quite willing to fit his shoulders anymore.

And from the way America is avoiding his gaze, it's fair to say that Alfred probably knows he looks like shit.

* * *

><p><span>AN: And this is where we leave off. I'm gonna post this in smaller chunks, because it seems to be growing out of my control here. XP Let me know how you liked (or disliked). :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And this is where my _seriousness_ invaded. Dunno if anyone else is following the "Beyond the Border" negotiations going on between Canada and the U.S. right now. Its goal is to further integrate the US/Canada economies (there was mention of adopting a shared currency – kind of like the Euro, but for North America), as well as law enforcement, so Mounties and border-State cops would work more closely together. It's an uberly sensitive issue in Canada lately (for people that actually pay attention to current events, at least).

Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/semi-violent/bi-polar Canada. Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.

Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan.

* * *

><p><strong>Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things<strong>

* * *

><p>America grimaces (no, it's not a pout, damnit) at the table, barely suppressing the urge to snap at his younger twin. He's fine, really, so it bugs him that Mattie is making a big deal out of this. Though, he supposes that's just the way Canada copes with his own issues – by focusing on everyone else's.<p>

Alfred looks up to deliver a scathing remark (even as he subconsciously leans into the cool touch at his forehead), but Canada has already bustled away, muttering something under his breath. The next thing America knows, there's a heaping pile of food in front of him, and a stern younger brother staring him down.

"Eat." Canada jabs a finger at the plate, an expression eerily reminiscent of Imperial England covering his face. The resemblance sends a horrible shiver down Alfred's back. Though he quickly laughs it off.

"Aw, Wifey still loves me," The American snickers obnoxiously. He grabs a fork, ready to have at those steaks, when something squishy collides with the side of his head.

"… Did you seriously just throw an oven mitt at me?" Alfred demands, eying the red-and-white checkered glove on the floor. Canada seems not to hear him, too busy scooping up his own dinner.

A prominent pout covers America's face as he digs into his plate. He still finds it weird that Canada has that old house-wifey, 'good food cures all,' mentality. But hey, he isn't about to complain. Free steak; fuck yeah.

"Careful, it's—"

"Ow," America's voice is muffled behind a mouthful of seasoned zucchini, "Hot, hot, ow,"

Canada rolls his eyes again, as he takes a seat. "… Idiot. Go spit it out if it's too hot."

"But it _hurts so good_," America gushes. Matthew shakes with silent laugher, unable to resist Alfred's dopy grin. The meal continues in much the same manner—sarcasm, and snark abounds—when it suddenly occurs to Alfred that he is probably eating someone else's dinner. Alfred eyes his nearly empty plate with a slightly chagrined expression.

"It's just Arthur," Canada says—_again_ with the mindreading, "He's late anyway—if he can be bothered to remember at all. I could probably feed him burnt cardboard and he wouldn't know the difference." The two share a knowing grin.

Alfred turns his attention back to his plate. It really amazes him that they can manage to remain so civil. Canada can be a _huge_ bitch when they spend extra time together. America can't help but consider the things they should probably talk about. I mean, they've managed to sit in the same room without threats of maiming, maybe now would be a good time to clarify some stuff...?

America pokes his rice around his plate for a few moments, ignoring Mattie's curious look. He wanted to bring this up a while ago, but has been reluctant, because Mattie can be so damn sensitive about everything. He decides to wing it, because why the hell should he have to tiptoe around anything?

"So," America begins, trying to project a nonchalance that he really isn't feeling right now. "You excited for next month?"

"No." Canada's response is blunt.

"No?" Alfred asks, trying not to sound too hurt.

"Alfred, it's the tenth anniversary of 9/11, why the hell would I be excited? I may be an asshole a lot of the time, but I'm not _that_ bad…" Alfred stares for a moment.

"Oh… _Oh_—No I didn't mean _that_." Alfred exclaims, waving his fork impatiently, "I mean they unveil Beyond the Border to the masses!" He says with a grin. Which is awesome, in Alfred's opinion. It's about time their governments found a way to open up the border again.

"Right." Canada's voice is clipped, his expression thin-lipped, and just a little pale. America's grin slowly drops at seeing his brother's obviously tense posture. He debates on whether he really wants to know what's wrong, because Canada has a lot of issues, and Alfred isn't sure he's awake enough to deal with them.

"… You alright?" America asks anyway.

"Fine." Which means '_fuck off_,' in Matthew speak.

Alfred stares in confusion. Matthew has turned away slightly to look out at the setting sun, and the sight briefly distracts Alfred. Dark sunrays fracture in indigo irises, and it reminds Alfred of stormy sunsets over the Atlantic Ocean. The fading daylight drips into the kitchen and catches in Mattie's strawberry blond curls. They look bright, and shiny, and soft, and Alfred kind of really wants to touch them, but he values his fingers thank-you-very-much, and Mattie still has a steak knife in hand, so he keeps his hands to himself.

And Mattie looks lost, and maybe a little vulnerable, and it drives Alfred completely _crazy_. Because it doesn't seem to matter how many centuries of good relations they've had, Canada always looks like he's just waiting for the axe to drop.

"What?" Alfred asks as Canada whispers something. His voice is very loud in the quiet of the kitchen. Matthew turns to him with a sigh, and Alfred feels strangely self-conscious with the direct eye contact (because Matthew has always looked away, eyes downturned, or looking into the distance, and he's not quite sure what to do with those omniscient orbs focused so intently on him). Matthew's dark eyes hold an emotion that hovers between resignation and assurance, soft mouth quirked in a thoughtful half smile.

"I'm not afraid, you know," and America's face must reflect his confusion, because Canada shakes his head in bemusement, and continues in the same near-silent voice, "All of your politicians, and Ambassadors. They act like I'm going to bolt if they come near me." Matthew props his elbows on the table, chin resting pensively in his hands. "Like I need to be coaxed, or manipulated into coming within ten feet of you." Alfred rolls his eyes.

"Ain't that the truth," America snorts, but quickly quiets under his twin's stern expression.

* * *

><p>"It's not you that I'm afraid of." Matthew repeats, "If it were just your people, I could handle that. Our values are similar enough, and… as <em>intense<em> as they can be at times, I know they mean well." Matthew pauses to collect his thoughts.

It's so rare for Alfred's attention span to hold long enough to carry a serious conversation; It leaves Matthew feeling off-centre, and a little nervous. There's too much he wants to articulate, and (let's be honest) he isn't the most eloquent person in the world.

"_It's what your government is capable of. What I've seen them do to your citizens, and mine when they think I'm not looking. _

_It's like they live in their own little bubble, and you have no idea what it's like sitting on this side of the border, watching Republicans and Democrats play chicken with each other. Meanwhile your economy wastes away, and your political system falls apart, while they—and their sponsors—act like vultures picking over whatever skeleton is left of you when the whole thing comes crashing down."_

And there's so much more he would like to explain. What it's like for his people to be the outside observers, watching each year as more of Alfred's precious freedom gets traded away in the name of security, or wealth. Becoming more like a Police State every day, while U.S. citizens are reduced to little more than a Global cash cow, pinned under the corporate thumb of the obscenely wealthy. And then they think, '_what if it happens to us?_'

Matthew shakes his head suddenly. There's no use in trying to explain these things to his brother. He has tried before, and Alfred would just laugh it off and accuse him of wallowing in conspiracy theories. And yes, maybe it's crazy to believe something like that, but that's what it _looks_ like—and America has done precious little to convince people otherwise.

He can't help but feel his fellow Canadians' nerves from having American business leaders and politicians showing a sudden interest. '_Oh, look at how much we have in common. We work so well together, and hey, it's pretty cool that you're upgrading the military finally_…' - Come into my lair, says the spider to the fly.

And it scares some people, because the majority of Canadians still believe, 'America doesn't have friends; it has interests. Beware of desperate friends bearing messages of goodwill.' It's like a little mantra in the back of his mind whenever America tries to talk business with him.

And he knows it's not really fair, because Alfred has always tried to do the right thing. It's just that he acts far too quickly, and the results are often fatal. Matthew sighs as he meets Alfred's serious stare.

"J… Just don't let this be The Twenties all over again," Canada says softly, blond locks obscuring his expression as he turns away, "…please."

* * *

><p><span>AN: I don't like how this turned out, Nope. Must've rewrote it 7 or 8 times, and I just seem to make it worse with each rewrite. XP Moral of the chapter: _emotional confict_. :D Canadians were uberly anti-American during the Bush era thing, and they're very, _vvverrryyyy_ slowly starting to come around. I don't know if that's reflected at all in this chapter, but that was my _intention_ with it. Though mostly… okay, you know what? I'm just gonna stop typing, because I doubt anyone cares about the national statistic polls I'm talking about. XD You find a lot on News websites that allow comments.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: lol, serious is gone. I'm so bi-polar…

Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/semi-violent/bi-polar Canada. Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.

Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things<span>**

* * *

><p>America frowns, not really sure what Mattie is getting at, but he assumes it's a sign that Canada will accept the closer cooperation… for now, at least. America elbows his twin playfully.<p>

"Come on Brosicle, you know I got your back." America's grin widens a bit at Canada's answering smirk, seeing his brother's mood begin to lift slightly.

"Or I can just continue buying all your bankrupt companies—"

"Hey!"

"—Since China already owns the rest of you." Matthew ignores Alfred's indignant sputters. "Tell me, has Yao showed up for any of those "personal favors" you owe him?" Canada's smile turns downright devilish as America's face reddens in mortification.

Alfred claps his hands over his ears as Canada opens his mouth for more teasing, a long string of some sing-song tune, that is probably supposed to be something like, "la la la, not listening~! Da da la na blah…"

But really sounds more like a mantra of, "Oh my god, I can't believe we're related~ It's not like that and why are you such a pervface…!" But Canada cannot be sure, because his brother is rambling too quickly.

America stands abruptly, "Lets watch hockey!" He exclaims, bolting for the living room. It's a perfect distraction! America leaps over the back of the couch, and lands on the other side, in a graceful heap between coffee table and sofa seat.

"It's _August_, fuckface!" Comes his brother's loving reply from the other room. America makes a face and grabs the remote from its haven on the couch seat.

"So…!" America calls back, "Like there's no ice in summer!" Alfred glances up to see Mattie now leaning over the back of the couch, a bemused expression crossing the Canadian's face due to Alfred's sprawled position on the floor.

"Yeah, but they don't exactly broadcast regularly from Nunavut. It's just the preseason now."

Alfred pouts… so much for distractions. Mattie stretches out and snatches the remote from his brother, before Alfred can toss it across the room in frustration.

"You want to watch the CFL instead?"

"Th' what?" Alfred cranes his head back to give Mattie a questioning look. Matt ditched the dress shirt at some point, for the (tight) white T-shirt underneath. He's carelessly draped over the back of the couch, ass end in the air, feet kicking, and shirt riding up his pale stomach teasingly. Mattie's toned arms prop him up on the couch seat right next to Alfred's shoulders. And there's an exceptionally fascinating arch along that lithe spine, from ass to shoulder blades that Alfred positively _itches_ to rake his fingers down.

Alfred can feel a warm huff of air against the side of his neck with each exhale, and that should _not_ feel as erotic as it does… So Alfred is going to blame it on Canada's stimulus spending, and the fact that he hasn't had time to get properly laid recently.

And on Canada's boss. Who does that fucker think he is, sending dirty travel brochures to him in the mail? Why yes, he _is_ aware of Canada's luscious bodies of water, pure wilderness, and plentiful… untapped resources… _thank you for the reminder_, asshole.

"Football," Matthew breaks into his irritable thoughts, shaking his head at America's gruff _'fuck yeah_.' Matthew maneuvers over the back of the couch, and flops facedown on the chesterfield, head turning just enough to see the TV. He props himself up on crossed arms, and quickly navigates through the labyrinth that is satellite TV.

Alfred flails his way onto the couch, disregarding Mattie's muttered, '_get the fuck off my legs, fat ass_.' The American rests his arms over the back of the sofa, with an offended sniff.

"Oh, like you've got any place to be pointing fingers about asses, _eh_," Alfred says, giving Mattie's nearest cheek a sharp smack for emphasis. Matthew squeals his brother's name indignantly, legs bucking under America's unyielding weight. Alfred cackles as his twin twists around to glare at him.

* * *

><p>Matthew can feel his face warm as America grabs for his wrists to prevent any attempts to lash out, and flashes one of his infamous million-dollar-smiles. What flusters Canada the most is that it works perfectly. Despite his attempts over the years to remain immune to Alfred's evil little tactics, he can't honestly say that he has succeeded.<p>

Matthew manages to pull himself out from under the snickering Super Power, only to be tugged back into Alfred's side. He turns to deliver a well-deserved Bitching Out, but settles for silent scowling, when it turns out that Alfred isn't even looking at him anymore.

"Mattie, what's wrong with the field?" Alfred squawks. Matthew looks at the TV, because Alfred is pointing at it like someone just pissed on his favourite Superman T-shirt.

"… What _is_ wrong with it?" Matthew asks after a moment of quiet contemplation, indigo eyes staring in bewilderment at a perfectly normal looking football game. He must have said something wrong, though, because Alfred's pretty, cerulean eyes have turned to stare at him in comical horror.

Matthew tries to cover a smile when it seems that Alfred is trying to burn the answers into his head, through shear force of will. He still has no idea what America is referring to, but the attempt at twin-telepathy is entertaining.

Alfred whines as Canada starts giggling at the intense look on the American's face, "It's not funny! The field is _way too big_. For serious, how the hell do you screw up _football_? We can't be friends anymore." America looks away with a disdainful sniff, and slouches against the sofa arm.

Matthew gives a pointed glance at the leather-clad arm still firmly wrapped around his torso, which America ignores, and Canada can't think of a comeback, because he's preoccupied with the fact that he doesn't feel the immediate need to throw Alfred across the room to get away from him.

He's surprisingly comfortable with it.

Alfred is radiating the dry heat of Nevada and New Mexico. He smells like summer wheat fields, worn leather, and Old Spice. …And Cheetos. That's where Canada stops contemplating, because it takes everything he has not to burst into laughter.

Matthew pokes America's side, grinning as Alfred lets out a strangled squeak—still ticklish, then.

"You can't sulk here all night." Canada points out, with a second prod at his neighbour (this elicits another entertaining chirp, followed quickly with a glare). America stares at him in disbelief.

"You seriously gonna make me drive another 17 hours tonight? Fuck that, I'm taking the couch." He turns back to scrutinizing the TV. "I can't handle this, you got any movies?"

Canada points at a cabinet to the right of the Television.

"I'm not moving." Canada mutters when America gives him an expectant stare. Alfred lets out a groan, head falling back to stare at the ceiling dramatically. Canada rolls his eyes as his neighbour whines, '_but it's so ffaarrr…_'

America finally pushes himself to his feet, muttering something about '_It better not all be foreign, subtitled crap_,' as he slumps over to the DVDs.

* * *

><p>"God Matt, your movies suck," Alfred accuses after a couple minutes of browsing the collection. So, so many hockey movies… Slap Shot, The Mighty Ducks, Score, Puck Hogs…<p>

The TV starts on some movie commercial. Alfred isn't paying too much attention until he hears (yeah, you guessed it) hockey. The American turns to stare at the screen.

"Are you shitting me?" Alfred can't bring himself to look at his neighbour, or he might just throw something at the man.

"What?" Canada sounds defensive. Alfred jabs a finger at the TV.

"_Another_ hockey movie? What the fuck, Matt, can't you do anything else? I'm calling Artie when I get back to New York, an' we're staging an intervention." Alfred nimbly dodged the couch pillow that came hurling at him.

"There's nothing wrong with hockey! Besides," Canada scowls at him and points at the actors. "It wasn't _all_ my idea, Pavarti thought it'd be cool."

"Since when does _India_ like hockey?"

Mattie looked just as baffled by the idea as America. Matthew shrugged.

"It's not that weird, is it? Her national sport is field hockey. S'not that big of a leap…"

"Dude, she can't even _afford_ ice rinks—oh, what an original title too." Alfred can't help but roll his eyes as the title "Breakaway" flashes across the TV.

"Oh my god, could you be _anymore_ of a bigoted ignoramus, you—"

America snickers at the word '_ignoramus,_' he should probably buy Mattie a dictionary, so he stopped making up words. Iggy tended to do the same thing—which is kind of an alarming thought. Just how much _did_ Mattie inherit from ol' Mother Britania?

"Probably," America waves his neighbour's whining away. Not like Matt didn't take "_politically incorrect_" cracks at nations too—Usually at either himself, or Europe, or… Actually Canada tended to make the worst jokes about him now that he thought about it.

And Canada is still muttering to himself. Alfred doesn't pay too much attention—because it's probably all bad names and dirty curses, '_you're such a prick. She's like an Aunt to me, not that you would know anything about family, and-'_ America rolls his eyes. Fuck, Canada complained a lot, he doesn't need to listen t—

"Star Wars!" America exclaims excitedly, holding up the DVDs in triumph. "Knew it couldn't totally be full of suckage—"

"Ah, sorry luv." A distinctly accented voice cuts in obliviously, "for some bloody reason, I just spent an hour being frisked in one of your airports. Were you aware that they did such things? I believe you and that twat are beginning to take this security thing a little too far, and I would appreciate a warning next time…" The words trail into awkward silence when the owner takes in the scene before him, suddenly becoming aware that there are more than two people in the house.

The North and South neighbours turn to blink at the Englishman standing at the entrance of the living room. He's in the middle of shrugging out of his coat, brows furrowed, and a small bouquet gripped in one hand.

Canada feels a split second of untainted _Doom_ as the two blonds start to bristle at each other, like a pair of prickly tomcats. Canada searches his mind frantically for a way to diffuse The Situation, meanwhile America is eying the flowers like he's going to set them on fire (along with the person holding them), and England can't seem to decide what level of Pissed-Off he wants to sit on.

"Uh…"

"Who invited _this_ twit!"

* * *

><p><span>AN: Yay, Arthur~! My fav character. :) I dunno why I keep adding more to this story. Looks like it's going to be closer to 5 or 6 chapters instead… Oh well, practice is practice, right? I just really felt that England needed an appearance. XD

India's name came from… somewhere. I don't remember who first used it, but I liked it, so I borrowed it. :)

How's my setting description? I'm trying to keep it pretty minimalistic right now, because I used to have an issue with focusing too much on the background descriptions. XD But if people are having issues with picturing the characters' actions, then I'm doing something wrong. D:

And random note about Breakaway; yes it's a real movie coming out. I thought it was cool because a) I'm a sucker for hockey comedies, b) this is the first time I've heard of a movie being co-produced by Indian and Canadian companies/actors, c) Russel Peters.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I have a theory. I believe that it's impossible for America, Canada and England to cohabit a space peacefully. For several reasons. 1) UK/US historical fights over Canada (and the fact that the two just don't like each other), 2) Canada gets paranoid/resentful when the US and UK are together, because they've often passed treaties at his expense, 3) A bunch of other crap that I won't get into.

Yes, I'm aware that referring to Arthur as "England" is considered politically incorrect. I do this anyway, because I subscribe to the notion that Scotland/Wales/Ireland have their own nation selves.

Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/semi-violent/bi-polar Canada. Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.

Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things<span>**

* * *

><p>America sneers in the Englishman's direction, ignoring Mattie's pleading stare from the couch that begs him, '<em>be nice, please please please…<em>' Who the fuck does the limey think he is, invading his side of the pond?

England glares right back, looking a little caught-out, but not particularly concerned.

"You're late," Canada murmurs before anyone else can say anything. The Northern nation turns around, kneeling on the sofa seat to peer over the back of the couch. Alfred makes a face as Canada's eyes brighten, despite his accusation. England's expression softens as he turns his attention to his oldest former-Dominion.

"Yes, well," the frown makes a second appearance, "it couldn't be helped. Airports have become an absolute _nightmare_ these days…" He trails off with a sheepish grimace, as Canada's expression goes from expectant to exasperated. He walks over to give Canada an abrupt (and slightly awkward) hug in greeting. "Sorry, Luv, I really did intend to arrive on time tonight."

Canada returns the embrace, turning his head to place a chaste kiss on the elder's cheek, pointedly ignoring America's gagging noises in the background.

"We ate dinner without you," Canada admitted, "didn't think you were coming."

"Quite alright, my boy, I ate on the plane." America can't help but marvel at how awkward the two look together—Oops, must've made that observation out loud. He plasters a shit-eating grin on his face as England shoots him a glare, and Canada goes kind of red.

"So," America holds up the DVD with an even wider grin, "Star Wars?"

"Sure Al," Canada's tone is dismissive as he climbs off the couch. America misses the inquiry about brewing a pot of tea, because who the _fuck_ can dismiss _Star Wars_? The Southern neighbour is in a bit of a daze, so it takes Canada a few tries to get his attention.

"What?" The American blurts, still holding the DVD case forlornly. Canada's expression softens into exasperated affection.

"Do you want some tea? We can watch Star Wars after." America face is disgusted at the thought of _tea_.

"Hot chocolate?" He asks hopefully, following the two shorter nations into the kitchen (well, Mattie's actually taller, but he slouches, so it doesn't count). "Hey," he addresses England next, holding out his arms, "Where's _my_ hugs and kisses?" The Englishman scuttles away with an angry scowl, as America nears.

"Touch me and die, Jones." England's expression is completely serious while he takes the far chair. America sniffs theatrically, clutching a hand to his chest, as though mortally wounded.

"Well fine then," Alfred huffs, crossing his arms, "no love for you." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Canada trying to hide a grin. The American's mock sorrow turns into a real pout when Canada tells him that he's out of hot chocolate, meanwhile England is bitching something about how Alfred can keep his grabby hand to himself, thank you very much.

"Fine," America sighs, "just black tea then. I don't want any of that weird girly crap you always buy." England looks affronted, and Canada just rolls his eyes.

"What kind of black tea?" Canada asks. America rolls his eyes right back.

"Uh, _regular_ black tea, stupid."

"I have twelve types of black tea, fuck face." America smothers a cackle. England looks horrified by his _innocent baby's_ response—probably doesn't know Canada has quite the mouth on him. Canada looks a little embarrassed when he remembers that they're not alone anymore.

Alfred gets up with an irritated noise and goes to look in the cupboard Canada is scrutinizing.

"Holy shit!" He ignores Canada angry '_don't shout in my ear, damnit!_' because there are shelves, and shelves (and shelves), of tea in that cupboard. Like four shelves of tea. Who the fuck drinks that much tea? (Arthur doesn't count - he probably has an entire _room_ dedicated to tea).

"Any preference, Arthur?"

"Preferably caffeine free, luv, it's fairly late." Matthew hums in agreement, shooting Alfred a dirty look over his shoulder, as the super power crowds him against the cupboard in an attempt to see the labels better.

"Why is this shit all in Chinese?" America whines.

"Because Xiang gives me tea on holidays."

"Who?"

"Hong Kong," England and Canada say in concert. It's kind of scary, he has to admit. Canada shoos his neighbour back to the table, obviously tiring of the arguments. America huffs and slouches into his dining chair, choosing to scowl across the table at his equally aggravated (former) father figure, while Canada puts a kettle on the stove and fusses around the kitchen.

America stares in horror as Canada somehow manages to produce a proper tea set within a few minutes. The cups (_and_ _saucers_,_ wtf?_) are plain white, with little gold maple leaves along the edges, with a matching teapot, two little cream pitchers, and a sugar jar. Canada tosses a couple teabags in the pot with the boiling water once the kettle is finished, and settles in a chair nearest to Arthur, with a quiet smile to their former guardian.

Seriously? Did not come here to watch Canada and England make eyes at each other all night. America hooks his foot around Canada's chair leg and tugs it closer to himself—what? Mattie shouldn't be sitting that close to creepy old men. Canada gives him an unimpressed look, but America doesn't care; Mattie will thank him for it later.

He honestly doesn't understand it. Mattie, more than anyone really, probably has the most incentive to hate Arthur's guts (you'd think being constantly exploited and forgotten would sour Canada's view of the stuffy Brit).

And as strange and awkward as they are together, there's an easy companionship that America has never really had.

Really, the only reason things seem so off between them is probably because Arthur is having a difficult time letting go of the "mother hen" mentality, and Canada… he doesn't really know Canada's problem. He's self-conscious with everyone except himself and Mexico - which is understandable.

When the three of them have woken in Vegas together, in a bare-assed heap, and covered in glitter (Canada was wearing a Stetson and cowboy boots, he's pretty sure – can't remember because Mexico's master solution of the morning was _more tequila_), under a tranny bar table, after too many shots of vodka, and a night of bar crawling… yeah, kind of hard to feel any sense of shame after surviving that together.

"…We need to do Vegas next month," the American muses to himself. He sees Canada freeze just as he reaches for the teapot. The Canadian eyes his neighbour warily, conversation with his 'father nation' promptly forgotten in the face of this new threat.

"No." Canada's tone is final. He doesn't take his eyes off of Alfred, as though expecting to be kidnapped and dragged there within the next two minutes.

"Yes." America's mind is made up.

"You _know_ what happened last time!" Canada's voice has that warbly tone that means he knows he can't win this conversation.

"And it was _awesome!_"

"You wore a mini skirt," Canada hisses. America blinks at his twin for a moment, before a huge grin breaks out on his face.

"Seriously? Oh my god, did you get pics?" The super power exclaims, slapping a hand down on the table. The teacups jump in response to the jolt, but remain mostly ignored.

"_No_, I didn't get pictures. You broke the phone they were on, and—"

"Didn't happen."

"What?" Canada looks confused.

"Pics, or it didn't happen. Jeeze Mattie, get with the program here."

"I—" Matthew cuts off his retort, when England clears his throat (rather loudly). America smiles benignly as the Brit shoots him a withering look.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you have something to add?" America knows his tone is a few shades too close to 'hostile.' Maybe if the ass hat would show up, and stop with the whole, "_mummy still loves you, Canada_," routine (when he _knows_ the only reason Arthur is paying attention to Mattie, is because England is going broke, and, hey, Canada's been out of the recession for _years_ already!).

He just wishes the Brit would back off, because America doesn't want to be the one dealing with a weepy little brother when _Mother Britannia_ goes back to ignoring him, after he gets what he wants.

Well, not that Canada ever really _cried_ or anything. But he'd get that stupid smile that tries to say, "Everything is fine," when _obviously_ everything is _not_ _fine_. And then there will be Alfred, twiddling his thumbs like an _idiot_, because he has never been any good with this emotional crap. And then he will have to kill England, because it's not right, and what else is a hero supposed to do when their brother ends up broken hearted?

"Forgive me, but is there a _reason_ for you to be here?" Arthur asks in his '_I have more respect for the shit on my shoe_' tone of voice, interrupting the American's resentful thoughts. Alfred glares at him, because it's seriously not right. Sure, he's made a few mistakes in the past (_or a lot_), but at least he makes an effort to _remember_ his twin.

Alfred leans back with a razor smile, tucking his hands behind his head in an attempt to look casual. Sure, Mattie may like England more than him, but who was the one with cultural, business, and military integration here?

"Cock blocking," America answers with an easy grin. Canada gives him a baffled (and offended) stare, while England turns an embarrassing shade of red (which makes America want to punch him in the head. Fucking _knew_ the man had creepy intentions…).

* * *

><p>Canada shifts anxiously, as the tension in the kitchen ratchets up a few notches. He feels like he's missing something here. It's not a very nice feeling, because he's used to knowing what his "family" is thinking. He's been hoping that the initial aggression would have dissipated between them earlier… but apparently not. Alfred looks like he's about to climb over the table to maul their former colonizer, and Arthur… he can't quite read Arthur, but it's obviously an unhappy expression.<p>

The two seem to be having a silent argument through expressions alone. It leaves Canada feeling a little left out, but he's not about to complain, because he'd rather not be a participant in whatever death argument the two are locked in.

The Canadian lets out a nervous bark of laughter when the two suddenly tense. It's high pitched, breathless, and a little hysterical; because if it comes to blows, Canada has no idea how he'll separate them before they destroy his house, and no idea _why_ they're so angry in the first place.

Canada shrinks in his seat as the two scowling blonds (well, Alfred's expression is more of an "aggressive smile") turn their attention to him.

"Oh look," Canada's voice is totally not pitchy, "I think the tea is done." He says, reaching for the teapot and quickly pouring it into the cups. He slides each cup to their intended recipients, then grabs his own.

He waits until Arthur is preoccupied with fixing his tea, before leaning closer to Alfred, to give him a questioning nudge.

* * *

><p>Alfred is about to brave a sip of <em>Boiled Grass<em>, when he feels Mattie softly push against him. He turns curious, spectacled eyes in Matthew's direction. And then he feels guilty, because Mattie looks so damn _worried_ about him.

'_What's wrong?_' Canada mouths silently, unaware that England is now staring intently at them. Alfred shrugs, trying to convey his best, '_I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetheart,_' expression.

Mattie's head serenely tilts to the side, his eyes narrowing into, '_Do I _look_ that stupid?_' He flicks a finger in England's direction, '_the fuck was that?_'

America shakes his head minutely, '_not important._'

Canada's brow furrows, obviously not buying into it, but what else is he going to do? America feels Mattie's leg nudge against his thigh in silent assurance (for what, he's not sure, but it's a sweet gesture nonetheless).

A warm, fluttering sensation settles in Alfred's chest. There's something comforting (_and oddly terrifying_), about being around someone that can read through his bullshit, even when they aren't saying anything. And Alfred is starting to feel like a spaz, because the tips of his ears are going pink, and he can't seem to wipe the stupid grin off his face, and Mattie is trying to hide his own smile. Canada releases a silent huff of laughter, and rolls his eyes before finally turning his attention back to his cooling teacup.

Alfred stares down the little china cup Canada had given him. Hah, he could do this.

"I feel so gay," America laments, gripping the tiny teacup handle as delicately as he can (_he refuses to do that 'pinky up' bullshit_). "Now all we need is some gay biscuits, and pink dresses, and this can be a _right splendid tea party_." America says the last bit with a horrible imitation of England's accent. Canada pats his shoulder in a mock show of sympathy, relieved that the threat of a fight seems to have passed.

"Embrace the gay, Alfie," is Canada's soothing advice, "embrace the gay."

"… Gay Bacon Strips?"

Canada giggles into his tea, and accidentally inhales some of the liquid. A vindictive smile crosses America's face, as Canada breaks into a couching fit; he slaps Canada's back a little harder than necessary. Meanwhile England just looks confused, and a little left out.

* * *

><p><span>AN: I liked writing this chapter.

It was hard (because I've never written England before – so I tried to include him as little as possible, XD), but I absolutely adore possessive/jealous!Alfred (whom is in denial of this fact, if you couldn't tell).

And yes, I do write America as being more prone to anger/emotional issues than is canonly acceptable. My reasoning is: because of all the crazy political/activist/economy issues going on in America lately, I think Alfred would be feeling a little unhinged right about now.

Sorry this chap took so long. I made it a little too Character Development heavy, I'm thinking. Is it too much drama? Btw, if you know the "gay bacon strips" reference, be my friend. XD


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: lol, we'll just pretend that I'm good at writing for this chapter, M'kay? :P I'm sorry it took a few days longer than usual. But, in my defense, it's also about twice as long as the other chapters. :)

Throwing some political ideals around in this chapter (about the debt crisis, America's Congress lock, and other things). Why? Because I can, and because I think it's something the Hetalia characters would have at the forefront of their minds, if fic writers ever bothered to take current events into account.

Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/bi-polar Canada (and slightly needy America). Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.

Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan.

* * *

><p><strong>Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things<strong>

* * *

><p>"Alright there, lad?"<p>

Canada gives a jerky nod, eyes watering slightly as his breathing calms. The Northern nation is bright red with embarrassment, too busy staring down at the table, and fiddling with his teacup, to notice America's arm still around his shoulders.

England shoots America a dirty look, when the super power doesn't move away from his twin. America promptly returns it with a sarcastic smile, batting his eyelashes at the sour island nation. It's not like he's groping Canada, or anything. Damn, Europeans are weird; he'll never understand Mattie's fondness for them.

"Well," England clears his throat, effectively breaking the awkward silence surrounding them. "How have domestic affairs been?" Arthur asks, obviously referring to Canada's political dynamic. America rolls his eyes. Or course, the first thing England wants to know about is the economy. America feels Mattie shrug his shoulders in response.

"Well enough. The deficit was two billion less than projected this year, so we're a little ahead on reduction." Canada explains, "Of course, it would go much faster if everyone else had their own plans in place." He admits, purposefully not looking at either of the countries next to him.

America isn't sure if he should be embarrassed, or annoyed with the observation. Because it's true that he should probably have figured something out since 2008, but it's also none of Canada's business how his leaders choose to operate. He's sure Canada would disagree, though, because he knows Mattie's Ministers have been making trips to D.C. nearly every week, to try and poke Congress into doing something productive.

It never works, but he has to give the men credit for trying, at least.

And maybe America can't really be annoyed about it either, because people have compared their current relationship to a little tugboat, trying to keep the Titanic afloat, after it has already hit the iceberg; and most days, America can't find it in himself to deny the analogy anymore.

Canada gives a wry smile to something that England said – Alfred's too busy sniffing dubiously at the contents of his teacup to know what – and shrugs again.

"All I can really do is be patient." Canada admits. "I'm a trading nation, so I've done everything I can. I'm sure everyone will figure themselves out in time." And England looks a little miffed by this explanation. What, does the man think Canada can pull a miracle out of his ass to save the world? Alfred knows Mattie's been working his butt off to get Europe to listen to him, but he'll probably have more luck nailing _jello_ to a wall.

"I'm surprised you didn't make a bid for the I.M.F.* leadership," England comments lightly, _possibly_ in refute of Canada's '_I've done everything I can,_' statement. As if Francis would ever give up control of the IMF, Alfred scoffs at the thought.

But Canada has a tiny, knowing smile on his lips, and it kind of freaks Alfred out, because sometimes it's like Mattie can see into the future, and _what the fuck does he know that the rest of us don't_.

"I wouldn't want to impose," is Canada's demure reply, but Alfred can see the derision in his dark eyes, and it's perfect, because England has no freaking clue what a little _bastard_ he is. It is moments like these, when America is tempted to get down on his knees, and demand that Canada have his babies.

But he's done that before, and received a black eye for his efforts. So no, let's not do that again.

"I know how attached you are to the organization." Canada murmurs, his expression openly disdainful now, even if his tone stays neutral.

"Quite," England responds, oblivious to Canada's quiet amusement, "we must maintain the status quo, after all."

"I'm sure."

Alfred, for once, stays silent, because he has no idea why Canada seems so passive-aggressive towards England over it. Though it's entertaining, so America's not about to complain.

Come to think of it, Canada has been acting really _bizarre_. Like chewing out Sri-Lanka over… _stuff_, signing free trade agreements with homicidal Honduras, and being the first one to start yelling for military intervention in Libya. It's actually starting to worry Alfred, because he knows how crazy Mattie can get at times. He has visions of Mattie just deciding to _crack_, and demanding that everyone either start killing each other, or sit down and shut the fuck up.

Hopefully it never gets to that point.

"Is everything arranged for next week?" England asks.

"What's next week?" America demands, ignoring England's '_it's none of your damn business_' glare.

"…Prime Minister Cameron is visiting," Canada explains, with a questioning look to his agitated twin. "And yes," he answers England's question with a nod. Really, you'd think it was the first time Canada has received foreign dignitaries…

"Oh," America feels kind of dumb now. He finally dares a mouthful of his tea, "_Oh_—" he spits it back in the cup, "oh _god_, what is this horribleness?"

"Pineapple-chamomile tea?" Canada suggests lightly, taking a delicate sip from his own cup. Canada nudges the sugar bowl towards Alfred (who is looking at the Canadian like he just spoke an alien language). Alfred knows Mattie is trying to keep from laughing in his face, because the jerk won't look at him.

"Jerkface," America accuses, grabbing the teaspoon and beginning to drown his drink with an indecent amount of sugar.

* * *

><p>Matthew hums noncommittally as he adds a bit of honey to his tea. He watches in amazement as America continues to mix spoonful after spoonful into his teacup. It's starting to resemble tea-flavored syrup. Just what he needs, America on a sugar-high, in the middle of the night.<p>

"D'you want to watch Star Wars now?" Canada asks before America drinks his Diabetes-in-a-cup. He sees England make a face across the table, but that's okay. The man could use a lesson in accommodating others. Alfred's eyes widen in glee. He downs the saccharine tea in one chug, and races into the living room. England and Canada exchange equally devastated looks.

"It was _you_ that gave him the sugar," England mutters, taking his cup to the sink. "Damned if I'll deal with this…"

Canada sighs, banishing the tea things to a far corner of the counter; he can't be bothered to clean up yet. The two resigned nations make their way into the living room, noticing that the TV is already at the play menu.

Matthew makes a point of sitting between the two argumentative blondes on the chesterfield. He cautiously watches Alfred out of the corner of his eye, as the super power cheerfully presses play on the remote. He isn't twitchy yet… good, maybe it wasn't enough sugar.

Canada slowly relaxes into the back of the couch. It looks like Alfred went with Return of The Jedi. Which is fine with Matthew; he likes the originals better than the prequels anyway. Canada quickly runs to make some popcorn while the trailers play, which earns him dubious professions of love and adoration from his neighbour, and an exasperated look from England that seems to say, '_good lord, don't encourage him_.' He decides to bring a few beers from the fridge as well.

Matthew grins as the opening text comes up. England's never watched Star Wars with Alfred before. This should be interesting… right on cue,

"Daaa NAAAA, Da na da _DA_ NYAAAAA!"

"_Jesus_ bloody—"

Matthew bursts into snickers as Alfred continues his caterwauling. Arthur looks visibly offended by the noise. The Brit gives Matthew a _look_, one that says, 'will you _handle_ him, please?' Which sends Matthew into another round of giggles.

Matthew later finds himself tugged into Alfred's side, again. As the movie progresses, the twins will quote their favourite parts to each other, while England snaps at them to shut up and let him watch it in peace. Matthew feels kind of bad that England's not enjoying himself. After all, he _is_ the one Canada originally invited over. But maybe it's time he accepted the fact that he and England just… don't have much to connect with anymore. Maybe he just didn't notice before, because England couldn't be bothered to really even _look_ at him in 20 years.

It's a little sad, when one of England's first conversations with him in two decades, is to lecture him about some poorly written animal rights laws—Laws that have been updated three times, since the _forties_.

But hey, it would have been very useful advice… _67 years ago_.

* * *

><p>Alfred drums his fingers on the arm of the couch. Not that he's impatient or anything—hell no, he loves this movie. He just can't seem to sit still. He notices that Canada's kind of zoning out—he's got that moody look on his face again.<p>

"Dude," Alfred says, hoping to distract Mattie from whatever he's thinking, "we should do a Star Wars theme for Halloween this year." Canada blinks at him, indigo eyes softening with quiet amusement.

"It's not even autumn yet," Mattie points out.

"You can wear the slave girl costume," America suggests with a sly grin, ignoring his neighbour's previous observation. Canada's expression reddens.

"You show up here in a pink, stripper-cowboy costume, and I'll consider it." Canada sneers (it's a weird expression on Mattie's soft features). Alfred smirks at the challenge. He already knows that if it comes down to it, Mattie will turn into a blushing, stuttery mess, and not be able to look at him for a _week_, if he actually shows up dressed like that.

America makes a show of considering the idea.

"Pfft, I look horrible in pink." Alfred says dismissively. Mattie looks kind of nervous at the American's wide grin. "We can _both_ be slutty cowboys. You be white, I'll be black."

"… No thanks."

"You're right. Might be too much Awesome for everyone to handle…" His voice trails into silence as he catches England watching Mattie from the other side of the couch. Alfred shifts defensively, tightens his arm around Canada's narrow waist, and tries not to think too hard about the angry, heavy feeling in the bottom of his chest. Stupid limey.

Emerald eyes meet his gaze, as patronizing as ever, but also strangely resigned. Over what, America doesn't particularly care. It's not his fault England has spent the past century pissing all over his relationship with Canada, and then expecting that everything would be _wunderbar_, once he finally finds a use for his former colony.

He also knows Mattie's not angry about it, which he does _not_ understand.

"You two watching this, or will you just glare at each other all night?" Canada questions in his '_mummy is disappointed_' voice. America flushes at the quiet rebuke, and turns his attention back to the TV with a huff, noting that England does the same.

They finish up the movie in uncomfortable silence. The other two blonds are beginning to look drowsy, and it suddenly occurs to Alfred that Mattie only has one extra bedroom in this house.

Mattie gets up to start clearing dishes and beer cans, while England helps. Alfred figures he should go stake out his territory. The American springs up and heads for the stairway.

"I'm stealing some PJs," Alfred announces, plotting a course for the master bedroom. Canada waves him off, more worried about putting his living room back in order than letting America wander unattended in his house.

America springs up the stairs, and to the end of the hallway. He pokes his head into the bedroom (to make sure it's not the office), before slipping in. Alfred can't help but marvel at how clean it looks compared to his own room… He almost feels obligated to start messing things up. But first thing's first; jacket in the closet, everything else in a pile next to the door.

The American makes his way to the dresser once finished stripping. He pulls out a white wifebeater, and some dark, loose fitting pajama pants.

* * *

><p>Canada rolls his eyes, and chases his former guardian away from the sink. He can do his own dishes, thank-you-very-much. England finally surrenders himself to a seat at the dining table, though not without a few choice grumbles along the way. Canada shakes his head with an indulgent smile.<p>

The two say nothing as Matthew cleans his dishes. It's kind of hard to start conversation when they're both expecting Alfred to burst in any second.

"How _is_ the debt situation?" Matthew is the first to break the silence. England considers the younger nation for a few seconds.

"Bad." Arthur admits. Matthew nods absently, as if he already knew the answer. There's not much to discuss anyway. France and Germany spend so much time bickering over who's method is the most efficient, that by the time they try to implement it, they're too late and have to think of something new. Meanwhile the debt crisis gets that much worse, all the nations in Europe get a little sicker, and it drags the rest of the world economy down another few notches.

Canada has made an effort to table a few ideas of his own for them (and he knows England is at his wits end, trying to push them in the right direction). But that goes about as well as any of his attempts to be heard among the Europeans. He eventually had to redirect his efforts, because, while Europe is fairly important to his wellbeing, his relations with America will always take precedence (as depressing, and unfortunate as that fact may be).

"You are coping with all of this very well." England comments lightly. Canada blinks in surprise at his ex-colonizer. He's not sure what to say to that, because he certainly doesn't _feel_ like he's coping. At the same time it just feels like 'Business as Usual' for the young nation. He's fairly used to global chaos by this point, and he finds it strange that Arthur doesn't know this.

Canada settles on a noncommittal shrug in response. It's honestly not as bad as everyone keeps making it out to be. If everyone would just shut up and do something about it, this could have been fixed years ago… But such is life.

"How…" He sees England hesitate. "How's Alfred handling all of this?" Matthew's expression softens a bit. As much as the two nitpick and snarl at each other, there's a bit of care left over from the colonial days.

"Better than he thinks," Canada answers honestly. He's not about to spill all of America's personal secrets, but maybe it won't hurt for England to get a better idea of what they're dealing with on this side of the ocean.

Canada's gaze clouds with thought, as he scrubs at one stubborn pot. "He's not used to saying no to himself, so his people feel like everything is worse than it really is. It's just frustrating, because I know he could fix this with a couple laws…" Matthew shrugs.

"It doesn't help that he's in a bit of an identity crisis. I've been trying to help as much as I can, but it's hard. I'm not really proud of some of the tactics I've used to push him in the right direction, but at least _some_ of them are working," the noise Canada makes isn't quite a laugh, "he was easier to deal with when he thought he owned the world. At least then I didn't have to take him to court every week, to remind him he's not allowed to bury his head in the sand."

Matthew rinses the pot he's working on, and grabs a couple forks as his… mentor? (Yes, mentor was a good word for it. Canada can't really bring himself to think of England as "Dad"), absorbs Canada's comments.

"… Will he be alright?"

Canada glances over at Arthur with a questioning eyebrow raised.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Canada asks. It's not like America is dying or anything. He's just flailing around a little uselessly, before he decides to get his shit together.

And then Canada wants to smack England, because he's heard the whispers in the conference room, when the other nations think nobody's there. It's almost like they _want_ to see Alfred fail, like no other option is possible to them. It makes him angry, but at the same time, he can understand why they would assume.

It's fine, though, because Canada's had centuries next to The Idiot, so he knows better. The others don't.

He catches England in a yawn. Matthew's mouth twitches into a small smile.

"Why don't you go to bed? I'm just finishing these up…"

"Nonsense, I—" Arthur cuts himself off with another yawn, and flushes with embarrassment at the knowing smirk on Canada's lips. Arthur huffs, before deciding to save what dignity he has, and head for the guest room.

* * *

><p>Matthew hums quietly to himself as his finishes the cleaning, and then makes his way to his bedroom. Judging by the pile of clothes, and the state of his blankets, he assumes Alfred has already changed and raided his bed for extra blankets for the sofa.<p>

The Canadian kicks his pants over near Alfred's clothes and flops onto his bed with a silent groan. This rollercoaster was _not_ what he planned for the evening. He wanted a nice dinner, maybe some discussions about literature, and…

Something's not right with his room. Canada stares hard at the wall, while his hazy thoughts meander their way in an attempt to figure out what that is. If Alfred touched any of his hockey jerseys, that nation was a dead man. Fuck _Friendly Relations_, you don't _touch_ the jerseys.

'_Here's a hint,_' Matthew's mind helpfully supplies, '_since when do you own a body pillow?_' Well, he used to have one, but Kuma gnawed it to feathery pieces… '_and since when do body pillows _breathe?'

It takes him a second.

"_Fuck_," Canada bolts upright, suddenly wide-awake. "The _fuck_'re you doing in my bed!" The shriek isn't much louder than a whisper. He can see Nantucket peaking out from under the red comforter. And _fuck,_ he may let Alfred get away with a _lot_ of shit, but _The Bed?_ The Bed is fucking _off limits_. He's not taking the couch in his own house.

Matthew drags back the quilt, and stares as hatefully as he can at the sprawling blond in his bed. Alfred blinks back at him, as though unable to comprehend how Canada might have a problem with this.

"Get. Out." Baby blue eyes stare up at him in wide-eyed innocence.

"No, I think I'm good." America replies, after a moment of contemplation. Canada gapes down at his neighbour in disbelief.

"_You_… I—W-well I'm _not_," the Canadian stutters out. What the hell?

"I gotta protect you from Limey. What if he decides he's lonely later? And you'll cry, and I'll be too far away to hear… All the way down those stairs."

"I don't care if fucking Satan himself is next door, you're not staying in my bed." Canada says.

Alfred makes another similar argument to the first. And it sounds like logic, and he says it in such a reasonable manner. But the _words_ make absolutely _no_ sense to Matthew. For fucks sakes, it's _Arthur_. The man used to change their _diapers_.

Matthew sees America roll his eyes in the dim light, and squeaks as the super power yanks him over and down, so he's sprawled on the side of the bed closest to the wall.

"We can argue about it tomorrow," America says dismissively, easily blocking the Canadian's flailing limbs.

"_Fine_," Canada snaps, "You can sleep on the _floor_, just let go!" He spares a moment to be thankful that the guest room is at the other end of the hallway, because having Arthur walk in on what ever the hell _this_ is, would be humiliating.

Alfred out-right laughs at the suggestion (Matthew takes his thoughts in the kitchen back – America can _burn_ for all he cares). "Yeah, like _I'm_ going to sleep on the floor. Good one Mattie." Canada makes a lunge for the other side of the bed, only to be caught around the waist and tugged back. "And neither are you." The American says, already predicting Canada's next retort.

Canada fumes silently as Alfred cozies up against his back (_spooning_ with Alfred is _not_ how he was intending to end his night). What the Serious fuck?

Matthew shivers at the feeling of America's hot breath on the back of his neck. Alfred's warm chest is pressed into his back, and he can feel broad muscles shift and ripple with each exhale.

"Would you chill," Alfred mumbles. Matthew doesn't really _hear_ the request, so much as _feel_ it reverberate low in Alfred's chest. "M'not gonna do anything."

"Sleep on the floor then," Canada hisses furiously, trying to twist away. Alfred tightens his hold with a noise of frustration.

"It's not going to _kill_ you, alright? You can put up with me for one night." America growls back. Canada glares at the wall in response. He doesn't understand why Alfred is arguing about this, they're not kids anymore, and even when they were, England usually tried to keep them separate anyway.

Alfred lets out an aggravated, forceful sigh when Canada says this aloud.

"Yeah, well," he huffs again, "maybe I just miss the time when we _could_ do this, without you turning into a PMSing little bitch about it." He snaps, "Now shut up, I'm sleeping." The American lifts his head up, and then flops back down on the pillow with a sulky sigh, to underscore this fact.

Canada stares blankly at the wall for a few seconds. Now Matthew just feels bad, because there's an undercurrent of hurt beneath the irritation, and it never really occurred to him that maybe Alfred is just lonely.

As social, and attention seeking as the super power can be, Canada (more than anyone) knows that America has spent the past decade entrenching himself; building walls, and digging trenches to keep other countries at arms length… figuratively speaking, of course. Canada would notice if Alfred _literally_ built giant barricades around himself.

He understands what it means to be one of the few countries (if not _the only_ one) capable of stomping all over those political lines, without having to worry that Alfred will flip shit and start lobbing bombs at him for it. But it's difficult sometimes, and frustrating to _always _be the one to dig Alfred out of his little isolationist blanket fort. But just the fact that he _can_, without Alfred trying to snap his neck for it… It's an aspect of their relationship that Canada knows he takes for granted a lot of the time.

Matthew slowly allows himself to relax. It's not like he's actually _worried_ that Alfred will try something. It's just… Okay, maybe he is a _little_ worried, because who will notice if Alfred gets bored one day, and decides to have his wicked way with him? It's not like he hasn't done it to other countries before… and Canada's not naïve enough to consider himself the exception to the rule.

But, every once in a while, Matthew has to acknowledge that his twin wasn't _always_ an asshole, and sometimes he catches glimpses of the 'loving big brother' figure that he grew up with.

Alfred hums cheerfully to himself as Matthew gradually settles down. Though the Northern nation's expression sours as the American slowly smothers him into the mattress, seeming to melt and fold against his back like some kind of needy, over-sized octopus. Matthew pretends not to notice how Alfred nuzzles at the back of his neck, and sniffs his hair. Because, honestly? He deals with weirder shit than this.

The Canadian forces himself to close his eyes, and think about sleep. Not that it helps, but it's better than lying there, and cataloguing every little fidget from the body behind him. Which would be _lots_, because America can't sit still to save his life.

"_Alfred_," Matthew hisses, after a few minutes of the American rearranging himself, and playing with the hem of Matthew's shirt, and just generally making a nuisance of himself. Canada receives a grumbled apology in response, before the super power goes still… for all of ten seconds.

Canada groans into his pillow. So Alfred _is_ having issues with his insomnia again… That's just wonderful.

Matthew shifts around until he's lying on his back, and pushes Alfred until the American's head is pillowed on his shoulder, and the rest of him is sprawled out along his side (and across his front… Matthew has no idea how one person can take up so much space).

This can't be much different than when they were kids, right? Even then, America would get restless whenever England sent them to their rooms for "nap time;" he usually just needs something to distract him from whatever thought he's obsessing over.

"Please stop thinking," Matthew murmurs, carding his fingers through the shorter hair at the back of Alfred's head, hoping the sensation will be enough to distract him, without giving him any weird ideas. "I'm getting a headache just looking at you." Hot air fans against Matthew's collar bone, as the American sighs contentedly.

"I'll get right on that, Mattie." Alfred mumbles. The statement is too sleepy to be considered sarcastic, and punctuated with quiet laughter.

Matthew lightly tugs on a lock of hair in warning (they're supposed to be sleeping, after all), shaking his head when America just shivers and curls tighter against him.

Alfred subconsciously tilts his head to give Matthew easier access, seeming to preen under the extra attention. It kind of reminds Matthew of a cat. That's one thing Alfred definitely inherited from France; they're both sensualists at heart.

Canada finally starts to drift off, once Alfred stops his shuffling. He knows he's in for a world of embarrassment tomorrow morning. But right now, Alfred is warm, and he's quiet, and Matthew has pulled one too many all-nighters this week to find a reason to care that Alfred is sleeping nearly on top of him.

… Whatever. He'll deal with it tomorrow.

* * *

><p><span>AN: Long A/N is long. =A= Please, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I'm a little nervous with how it turned out because of the constant perspective changes, and… stuff. The political stuff isn't too boring, is it?

Don't mind me if you don't like some of the views I've expressed in this chapter. They're not all my own, and I in no way understand all the complexities surrounding the issues. I have done my best to research them, though, and look at polls and stuff for various country reactions. Did you know that the country with the lowest opinion of America, are Americans themselves? Even _Pakistan_ likes America more than America does. oAo

So now I think Alfred has a bit of a depression/self-hate problem going on. Goddamn you News Network. *shakes fist*

*IMF: International Monetary Fund. They're somewhat like a World bank (if you want the simple explanation). Rich countries put money into it; poor countries borrow from it.

It was founded after the Great Depression in order to support countries when they hit hard times, so the international consequences would be minimized (… so much for that, XD). Arthur's comment comes from the fact that there had been rumours flying around that Canada would put forward their own Banking Governor as a candidate, when it came time to choose a new President for the IMF. Canada chose to support Mexico's candidate instead (who did not win), because they thought he was more qualified than anyone else. A European has always held the IMF leadership.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm kind of sad that people didn't like the previous chapter as much as the others… But oh well, here's the last one. Sorry it's crappy, and not really worth the wait. XP I was sickly and spent my week sleeping, working, and coughing my lungs up.

Be amazed, I actually finished something, for once. :P And I am blubbering so bad, because you know when you find a song that perfectly fits everything you've ever thought about a character? Yeah, totally freaking out right now.

Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/semi-violent/bi-polar Canada. Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.

Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things<span>**

* * *

><p>America covers his head with a pained groan. Why the fuck are the curtains open?<p>

Bright, cheerful sunlight splashes through the glass and across the double bed. Birds chirp outside… cars honk at each other. Alfred cracks a reluctant eye open, as warm, creeping lethargy grips his frame. His limbs feel boneless, cocooned against Mattie's solid warmth.

Oh, he could get used to this. Mattie mumbles something in his sleep, and Alfred can feel the Canuck nuzzle against the top of his head, and tighten his hands on Alfred's back in a kneading motion. America shivers under the little touches, and curls tighter against Matthew's chest. God yes, he could _definitely_ get used to this.

At some point in the night, his northern twin saw fit to use the American as a second blanket—or maybe just a Kumajiro substitute, because Alfred doesn't remember going to sleep _on_ Matthew (whose arms and legs are currently wrapped snugly around Alfred's neck, and torso).

He can hear the slow, steady pulse in Canada's chest, and Alfred seriously feels like never moving again. Which is weird, because he must've slept at least a solid eight hours—that's more than he usually gets in a whole week.

America yawns and gives a full body stretch, grinning at the way Canada mutters and tightens his thighs in response. He knows Mattie will be out for at least another few hours, and there's no way America's going to lie around for that long—it's almost 8:30 for fuck's sake.

Alfred pushes himself to his hands and knees, ready to get up and start the day. He squeaks, and flails as Mattie instinctively tugs him back down.

His face is squished uncomfortably against Mattie's collarbone, and shit, he's not going anywhere, because Canada sleeps like a fucking log (he's seen the man sleep through an earthquake—_twice_), and because, despite the meek little '_Oh look at me~ I'm so innocent and harmless, and cute and shit_' act that Mattie plays up for the rest of the world, he's not much of a weakling when he forgets to control himself.

"Matttiieee…" the American's whine is muffled in his twin's T-shirt, "Le'go…" Obviously, the sleeping blond does not obey. America twists slowly, experimentally. He huffs. Yeah, he can do this.

The next 10 minutes are an annoyed and flustered America, trying to Houdini himself out of his twin's death grip (without waking him up). The shirt had to be sacrificed, and his pajama pants are freaking halfway down his knees, by the time he wiggles his hips free, but finally! Freedom at last! The American shuffles back with a triumphant grin—right off the side of the bed. _Thunk_.

"… _Ow_." Ass. Meet floor.

America pouts when Matthew just sighs and rolls to face the wall. He crawls his way to the bedroom door (after pulling up his pants), since it's too much effort to walk after _that_ little adventure. He decides it's time to stand once he gets to the stairs.

England is already at the dining table when Alfred gets to the kitchen. He's got more pansy-ass tea, and doesn't look like he had nearly as good a sleep as America did. But that's okay too, because at least Arthur's mattress didn't try to eat him this morning either.

"Yo," America hails the island nation on his way to the coffee machine. England blinks up at the half-clothed American, prominent eyebrows rising at Alfred's ruffled appearance.

The two are quiet as America brews himself a pot of coffee. America can't be bothered to make conversation this early, and England is trying not to think about where America probably spent the night (since he wasn't on the couch, and Arthur took the only guest room).

America slumps in the chair across from England, and takes a gulp of his drink with a satisfied sigh. He can feel England's eyes studying him, but can't bring himself to care.

That is, until the staring continues for five straight minutes.

"If you got something to say, just say it." America speaks, not quite confrontational, but firm enough to let England know he might have a face full of scalding coffee sometime in the next 10 minutes if he doesn't stop it.

The smaller nation starts, as though just realizing he's watching the American so blatantly. The Englishman glances away with an annoyed huff. He downs his tea and pushes himself to his feet and heads for the stairs.

"I'll go wake Matthew, and—"

"NO," America jumps up, and clutches at England frantically.

"Bloody _fuck_," the island nation goes down under the super power's weight, "what the ruddy hell is _wrong with you_," America doesn't listen to the rest of it, all that matters is that he's saved them both from a horrible, and bloody demise.

"Shh, shh," America clamps a hand over England's mouth, giving him a grim look that would be more appropriate when dealing with timed explosives.

England just stares incredulously up at him.

"We do not. Wake. The Beast. Got it?" Not without an offering, at least. England obviously doesn't get it. America shakes his head; honestly, he's dealing with amateurs here.

He pushes himself up off of England, goes for the cupboard, and pulls down the largest coffee mug he can find. It's a good thing Mattie has take home Timmie's for him to brew (and that he had thought to make it, instead of Nabob), because he really doesn't feel like walking down the block to Tim Horton's to pick some up.

America ignores England's mystified expression, as he makes his way up the stairs, with a newly filled mug clutched before him like a shield. Alfred slips silently into the master bedroom, and eyes the lump of blankets on the bed thoughtfully.

"Hey Matt," Alfred murmurs, slowly approaching the bed. This could go one of two ways. Either Mattie will try to drown him in the cup (maybe smash the mug, and then attempt to dismember him with the broken pieces), or molest him in gratitude. Both are equally terrifying prospects when Canada first wakes up.

"Maaattiiieee…" The blanket cocoon grunts and shifts restlessly as Alfred gives it a light prod, ready to flee at the first sign of aggression. After a bit more insistence, Canada pushes himself to a sitting position. His strawberry blond hair is a mess (_after-sex hair_, giggles a small part of America's brain, before he forcibly stomps on it), and his dark, misty eyes look bewildered under all the sleep.

America waves the coffee mug gently before his twin's vacant face. 'Focus on the coffee, remember, you love coffee, _Tim Horton's_ coffee, please don't kill me,' Alfred's body language seems to say.

Matthew's long-fingered hands fold around the bright yellow mug; he seems content to simply bask in the earthy scent for now. Which Alfred is too impatient for, so he tips the edge of the cup towards Canada's lips. The Northern nation almost seems to growl at the interference, but he drinks it anyway.

America allows his zombified neighbour a few sips, before slowly backing away, coaxing the still half-asleep nation out of bed. America pauses at the door when it's obvious that his twin has no intention of following. Mattie just sits there, looking kind of pathetic, and shoots mournful and longing looks at the coffee cup.

America tries to talk his neighbour into moving, knowing it's useless to expect any verbal response from his twin _this_ early. It doesn't work, of course. If Mattie has it his way, he won't be up before noon. Alfred shrugs, and moves to leave.

"Fine, I guess I'll just have to drink it mysel—" America lets out a girlish scream, as someone suddenly latches onto him. He holds the coffee up in the air, in an attempt to keep Canada from spilling it all over them. What he _isn't_ expecting, is Mattie to start _climbing him_ to get it.

"Arthur, save me! _The Beaver's gonna eat meee!_" America scrambles down the stairs as fast as he can with Canada clinging to him like some crazed koala.

Canada manages to snatch the cup from him just as they reach ground level.

England darts into the living room, wondering what the devil is going on.

He's confronted with the image of America, with his hands in the air like he's being held at gunpoint. And Canada, holding an ugly yellow mug possessively. He has one leg carelessly draped across the back of America's broad shoulders, toes curling near the alarmed super power's chest. The other leg is twisted around the front of the Yankee's torso, foot hooked at Alfred's hip. It… doesn't look physically possible, actually.

"Get him off," America pleads, knowing it's no use reasoning with Canada, before he's had his first coffee of the day. Meanwhile the Canadian is silently cooing over his hard earned breakfast beverage, and seems completely unaware of his current perch.

"Matt! The whole hat thing was a _joke_, you're not supposed to take it literally!" Alfred growls, trying to dislodge his sleepy neighbour. Matthew instinctively resists for a moment (almost choking his twin in the process), but eventually allows the American to disentangle them; he's more interested in the deliciousness that is coffee anyway.

Alfred deposits his psychotic twin in a dining chair, before retreating a few feet to where England is standing. Arthur looks like he isn't sure if he wants to laugh at the scene, or just leave the room.

"This is pretty normal," Alfred observes to the bemused islander, as Canada curls up in the dining chair and nurses his coffee, completely ignoring the other two nations in the room, "he broke my nose with a pillow last time." England looks incredulous.

Whatever, England doesn't have to believe him. He'll learn, if he ever ends up spending the night with Mattie (and then Alfred will have to castrate him).

America slowly approaches, after his neighbour finishes the coffee, and starts to look a little more alive. Mattie yawns, and stands with a stretch.

"So who wants breakfast?" Canada asks, expression downright chirpy now. It's a little unnerving, but at least they averted disaster.

America is at the dining table in seconds. Fuck yeah, pancakes. Canada spends the next half-hour throwing together what amounts to a breakfast feast. It's like he couldn't decide what he wanted that day, so he made enough of everything to feed ten people.

America can't resist the urge to start loading his plate as the food piles in large bowls and plates in the center of the table. Arthur looks more disbelieving with each new addition to the growing smorgasbord*.

Alfred counts bacon (so much bacon), sausage (two types), scrambled eggs, fruit salad, toast, and a few mangled omlettes. French toast, pancakes, fried potatoes, and… Alfred stops counting when he gets to the baked goodies.

"Is this… really necessary…?" England is staring at the mountains of food in horrified fascination, while Canada finishes up. Mattie plunks down across from America, and starts by stealing half of the thirteen, dinner-plate-sized pancakes, loading them with fruit salad and maple syrup.

"Yes." Canada and America reply in unison.

* * *

><p>Canada hums cheerfully under his breath, as he decimates the pancakes single handedly (he makes sure that Alfred and Arthur get at least one each), before moving onto the eggs, bacon and French toast.<p>

Alfred is mowing through his own breakfast at an alarming rate. But that's okay. It's why Canada made so much in the first place. At least he knows _some_one will always enjoy his cooking.

Meanwhile, Arthur has barely touched his food; too distracted by watching the two younger nations eat everything in sight. Canada tries not to feel self-conscious under the incredulous stare. He's allowed to enjoy his food damnit, and Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Conversation is sparse as the three eat. America pokes fun every once in a while, but is mostly intent on battling Canada for the last pieces of sausage.

"You know…" Canada glances up at America questioningly. America is chewing thoughtfully on some bacon. "I haven't forgotten about Vegas." Canada's expression flattens as America sends him a wicked grin.

"We talked about this."

"Naw uh,"

"I'm not going to Vegas. Why can't you be like a normal person, and go camping, or something to relax?" Alfred laughs obnoxiously, and Canada is tempted to flick a grape from his fruit salad at Alfred's _face_. But that would be a waste of good food.

"Oh my god, you're such a hippy." But Alfred has this calculating look in his eye, and it makes Matthew nervous.

"What?" Canada asks suspiciously. America's expression dissolves into pure innocence.

"Hm?"

"Don't give me that look," _I know what you're planning_. Canada has no clue, actually, but Alfred doesn't know that.

"Am I missing something?" Nobody pays attention to the increasingly sour Brit.

"Why don't we go camping?" America suggests with one of his mega-watt smiles.

"No."

"Why not?" Totally not whining.

"Because you hate camping."

"Do not!"

"Renting a cabin practically in the suburbs, is _not_ camping!" Canada points furiously at his southern neighbour with his fork. He looks visibly offended by the thought. "That's what _amateurs_ do."

"What if—"

"I swear to god. If you suggest an RV, I will cut you."

America falls silent.

"Do you still have a tent?" Alfred asks instead.

"What kind of dumb question is that?" Matthew blurts before he can stop himself. Because of _course_ he has a freaking tent. Canada keeps forgetting that Arthur is in the room with them, who is becoming increasingly alarmed by the "Americanized" reactions Canada keeps displaying. Whatever, that's what happens when the only country that wants to be around him, happens to be the world idiot.

They quickly finish off the last few bites of food.

And now Canada has no idea what to do. He was planning to show Arthur around a bit (the man hasn't visited him properly since… 1980-something), but he can't just ditch Alfred to do so.

"I think we should go here." Alfred interrupts Matthew's thoughts. He's fiddling with his Blackberry (where on earth he pulled it from, is a mystery to Canada). Matthew peers at the tiny screen as America holds it out to him, and frowns as he tries to think of where that is.

"Is this me?" Canada asks. America nods. It's a lake, basically, but Canada's not sure which one. Rolling mountains, highland grass… probably in the northwest Rockies. Bowron Lake Park? It looks like it could be Izaac Lake.

"Um… you know, it's four days by canoe to get there."

America's expression deadpans.

"Bullshit."

Arthur curiously leans over to look at the picture.

"Well, first we'd have to fly to Vancouver, and then drive for… nine hours. Or we could take the I-94 and Trans Highway… then it takes three days. But yeah, Izaac Lake is halfway through a ten day canoe route." And Matthew knows he's rambling. Shut up, maybe he's a little excited about the idea, okay?

"… Why do you have pictures of Matthew on your phone?" Arthur asks dryly, startling the young blonds. Canada blinks for a second, before turning accusing eyes on his suddenly blushing twin.

* * *

><p>"I-it's not <em>on<em> my phone," Alfred snaps defensively, "Jeeze, haven't you ever heard of The Internet?" Arthur is obviously enjoying this, whereas Mattie just looks disturbed and annoyed.

"It's not _my_ fault. Have you ever googled your name, Matt? Landscape pics _everywhere!_ It's like a fucking porn mag. Blame your boss. I try to look up some innocent—" England snorts at that, the little fuckface that he is, "—touristy crap and _bam_, you might as well just _throw_ yourself at people."

America feels a little better now, because Canada is turning a pretty shade of red, and seems at a complete loss of words. Which is nice, because it's actually _really_ hard to shut him up, once Mattie gets into one of his _moods_.

"Al, you've go to admit, it's a little creepy." America snorts. He used to follow Mattie around, and ambush him with (somewhat deranged) marriage proposals in the 1800's, and Canada finds _this_ creepy? The man needs to sort out his perceptions.

Canada's eyes narrow at America's dismissive scoff.

"Well, how would you like it if I googled _you_ just 'cause I'm bored?" It's supposed to be a demand, but Mattie looks too wide-eyed and flustered to pull 'angry' off.

America is unfazed. He gives Canada a sly grin, and wiggles his eyebrows in an exaggerated _Come Hither_ response. He laughs as Mattie just stutters.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mattie, but I've done that," he ignores Canada's muttered '_Narcissist…_' He was bored, and curious, the same two factors that led him to look up Canada as well.

"I've done that already, and there's not much to look at—"

"_You're_ not much to look at…" Alfred overlooks the quiet snark again.

"All you get are flag pictures—which, don't get me wrong, my flag is sexy as all fuck. But it's not anything you'd be interested in." Huh, a text from the VP? "For some reason, your girly leaf flag pops up a few times too…"

Canada sneers at him (or tries to, at least. He's still blushing too much to manage it, and America is too busy looking at his phone to notice anyway).

"Maybe the World needs a reminder that they're not _entirely_ doomed." Canada quips, a little nastily, if you ask Alfred, but he's put up with worse.

"Or it's a sign you should shut your trap and join the Union." America retorts without missing a beat. Fuuucckkk, why the fuck do they need him for Congress babysitting _again?_ America scrolls through the text slowly, kind of hoping he's been horribly confused all year, and it's actually April first.

You know what's a good plan? _Don't use Congress_. For fucks sake, even _Alfred_ knows they're not gonna do anything. Does he really need to be there to listen to them bitch at each other some more? Yeah, you kind of need Congress to pass bills and shit, but what's the point in having it, if they're not going to do that anyway? Idiots.

"No, I'm good," Mattie murmurs. Alfred almost doesn't catch Canada's response; "I'll just adopt you when you're poor and bankrupt…" America glances up sharply. "Well," Canada smirks, "more so than now."

Okay, maybe he kind of asked for that, but _fuck_ he wants to slap that smirk off Canada's face.

Mattie rolls his eyes as America glares at him for the jab, but Alfred is distracted by his phone chirping at him again (Actually, it's Homer Simpson shouting "_Doh!_" every time a text comes in, but it's the same thing really), before he thinks of a retort.

It's just some other government guys wondering where he disappeared. Can they seriously not manage longer than 24 hours without him there? Canada sometimes spends _months_ out of country, and nobody gets on his case about it. Granted, it's usually work related stuff he's away for, but what the hell?

"Lets do it next week," Alfred states, thinking he should probably get plans set up before taking off.

"Hm?" Canada is at the sink, quickly making his way through the breakfast dishes.

"Camping. Lets go next week."

"I can't, I'm visiting Kiku, and Yao, and Steven, and… some other countries. Harper hasn't given me the full itinerary yet."

"Then next-next week—"

"I'll be in South America."

"Wh—"

Matthew seems to anticipate America's next question, "Europe. I'm pretty sure we're dropping in on Libya too, but don't tell anyone, he's still fairly unstable."

"… Dude." Alfred blinks at his twin in disbelief. What the hell kind of schedule does Mattie's boss have him _on_? That's four continents in 3 weeks! Even Arthur looks a little concerned. Canada shrugs uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"We need the trade," is Canada's quiet admission. "The only way to stop a recession is to keep investment lines open, and with you idiots digging a deeper hole for yourselves with protectionist legislation…" Canada shrugs again, "I'm not going to get it from existing ties." The last plate clatters into the dish rack, as Canada shoves it in a little harder than necessary.

"I won't be dragged down with you." Canada finishes, his expression firm. "Not this time."

This is probably the first time America has seen Mattie genuinely upset with them in decades (or maybe "disappointed" would be a better word for it). He knows they've pissed him off a lot before, but Mattie's never actually _said_ anything to them (or, if he did, they weren't paying attention)…

"So. Any ideas on what you want to do today?" And Canada is back to playing the cheery little host.

America holds up his phone with an annoyed grimace.

"I gotta head back soon." Alfred says. Canada's expression turns mildly sympathetic – though America suspects the man is secretly laughing at him.

"How tragic," England drawls.

"You'll miss me Artie, don't deny it."

The Brit sneers at him, probably trying to be intimidating (he just looks constipated, in Alfred's opinion). Alfred rolls his eyes, and heads back to Matt's room, just now realizing that he is still shirtless.

He decides to steal some of Matt's clothes, because he doesn't want to wear the ones from yesterday, and because he's just spotted the short-sleeved, blue plaid, button up shirt that he's been meaning to filch from Mattie's closet, since forever. It's okay, because Matt's made off with a few pairs of his Levi's before (which he'll be taking back a pair of right now, thank-you-very-much).

Alfred stuffs his wallet and his phone in his jean pocket and slings his jacket over his shoulder as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

Canada walks with him to the front door. But _before_ he leaves…

"So… Camping?" Canada glares. "Come on! I swear I'll leave you alone for…" Alfred pauses for dramatic effect, "…_the rest of the day_." He says it as though it's the most glorious thing in the world. Which, of course, to Canada it would be. America tries to keep his expression utterly pathetic—you know, playing the sympathy card. Though a grin threatens to wrap around to the back of his head, as the Arctic Nation's expression takes on a more contemplative look.

Oh yes, Matt. Look into the eyes. Come on, you can do it… see the sincerity here… Hah! And now, there is no way Mattie will be able to resist this face. Even _England_ can't, so…

"One week."

Wait, what?

His expression must have voiced his confusion, because Canada decides to clarify his meaning.

"You are not to set foot anywhere near my apartment, or office, or house, or Parliament… for seven complete days, Alfred F. Jones." Matthew informs him.

"B-but—?" Alfred hopes his surprised face doesn't look as stupid as it feels, but judging from his twin's amused expression… yeah, it totally does.

"Whyyy?" He whines. This is impossible! Nobody can resist his 'kicked puppy' expression—It's practically written in the laws of nature! Although Mattie_ kills_ baby seals every winter,** so maybe he's one of those people that kick puppies for fun instead… He always knew Mattie was evil.

"… How 'bout three?" Alfred negotiates.

"Done."

Damn. He should've said two.

"Hugs and kisses and shit?" The American chirps, holding out his arms as he pulls the front door open. Matthew shakes his head in bemusement, deciding to indulge him for the time being.

"Yeah, yeah…" Mattie mutters. Alfred hums to himself as he tightens his arms around Mattie's waist. It reminds him of this morning, and kind of makes him want to stay, but he still has to go, and pretend that he works for a living, and… yeah…

Fuck, work is lame.

Mattie moves to draw away (_too soon_), and leaves a quick kiss at the corner of Alfred's mouth, and… Wait. What?

Alfred feels his brain short circuit for all of ten seconds. When he tunes back in, Mattie looks absolutely _mortified_, like he wants nothing more than to crawl under a rock and _die_. And Alfred is caught somewhere between wanting to laugh, or have his way with Mattie against the wall. He tries to remind himself why the second option is a Very Bad Idea. Because neither of them are very good at saying 'no' to the other, and Mattie still has insecurity issues, and… yeah. There's a reason that they established some personal boundaries back in the 30's…

Shit, how is he supposed to fix the awkward?

America lets out a brash laugh, and tugs Matthew into a rough bear hug. Mattie squeaks, flailing a bit under the assault.

"Aww, I knew you still loved me," America snickers, giving Mattie what would amount to a whisker burn, if Alfred actually had a beard.

"A-_Alfred!_" Canada squeals, trying to twist away. Alfred's not too worried though, because Mattie's laughing as well, and honestly, this is what works for them.

Sure, eventually they're both going to have to come to terms with the shifting dynamic between them, but it's fine for now.

"See ya later," Alfred chirps, receiving a soft smile in response.

"If I must." Canada's response is light, and airy.

Alfred bounces out the door with a grin. He feels somehow lighter than when he first arrived. Which is just weird, because he was expecting to be splitting some heads when he decided to come over.

Mattie thinks he's bullshitting whenever he mentions it, but Alfred is _positive_ that Canada exudes some sort of calming pheromones. Like, his zen-ness rubs off on people if they just hang around enough. Maybe he should consider keeping him as a desk ornament…

Fuck, he could use some Zen in D.C. right about now. Maybe he can convince Mattie to switch places with him for a few days.

* * *

><p><span>AN: The End! :D Sorry, lame ending is lame. You know that feeling when some parts of a fic feel fantastic to write (and actually turn out the way you expect them to), and then the rest of it might as well be brainless keyboard mashing? Yep, describes the creation of this fic perfectly.

I might write their camping trip later. It'll have some other fun current event for them to bitch about together, of course.

Fun Fact: When Tim Horton's opened their store in Kandahar, all the non-Canadian allies thought it was a religious cult for the first few weeks, because of the Canadian Forces' reactions to having it there.

*smorgasbord: (apparently not everyone knows this word? I dunno, it's pretty commonplace around here. Sorry Berwald, we Canadians be stealing your words, and brutally murdering them for our own amusement… =w= ). Short definition – it's another word for buffet.

**Seal Hunts: There's actually a lot of misconception about the seal hunts (in Canada, as well as around the world), which is kind of what the joke is about.

The fact is, we would have to cull seals, whether the Inuit used the parts in commercial sales or not. Why? Because they breed like rats, eat all the fish, and then slowly starve to death over the course of months (or even years).

A quick death (where the meat/fat/bones actually get used for something) is far more humane, in my opinion. There's a bunch of other reasons, but I don't want to turn this into an essay. :P


End file.
